


The Bird With a Broken Wing and The Hound With a Broken Heart

by bythepowerofgreyskull



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythepowerofgreyskull/pseuds/bythepowerofgreyskull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sansa had said yes to Sandor's offer to take her back to Winterfell? This fic explores that possibility.</p><p>Please note that this Fic will be updated in accordance to the TV version "Game of Thrones" in order to avoid spoilers for my dear friend, and the depictions of these two characters are largely influenced by their TV counterparts, not necessarily/exactly their book ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Excella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excella/gifts).



> Usually I have a piece of work all figured out before I start writing it but this one hear is one of my first attempts at fanfiction and I am not sure where it is taking me. I hope you enjoy the ride because I will.

In all the seven kingdoms of Westeros, there were not many things which could strike fear in the heart of The Hound. First of all fear would entail him giving a shit, which was something he just didn’t do too often for sake of his sanity. Second it would have to be something that Sandor could not strike down with his sword, and without sounding immodest he could claim that he was stronger than the things that most men would have to fear, other men included. 

But here he stood outside of the wall of the capitol, his eyes fixated on something he did fear. It was fire. Fire he could not strike down with his sword. Fire could bite you no matter how hard you swung at it; fire had eaten half of his face already. Fire ate the man in front of him alive, this man that was still screaming a battle cry and running towards him. He had held a torch before sure, a thousand times; it had not bothered him for years now. But as he stood watching this man come towards him in sick fascination, time moving so slowly, The Hound found himself shaken to his core. His heart pounded roughly, painfully, but so slowly, as if about to stop. An arrow took the burning man’s life mercifully, his death jolting The Hound out of his trance. Bronn had done him this favor? 

The Hound did not dwell on the man for even an instant, nor did he thank him. Besides, he would be busy doing what he did so well, killing- so reasoned The Hound. He turned right back around and inside the walls of the city. Finally, after so long, he had finally gained the courage to ask himself if any of it was worth it. Was this city worth his life? Was the Guard? Was the King? No, none of these things were worth his wretched and worthless life. This realization would have made him laugh if it weren’t all so embittering. So much time and breath wasted here. He let the Half Man and Boy King know this too, he didn’t care, for they didn’t have the time or men to waste on punishing him. And by the time they did he’d be long gone. The feeling of finally freeing himself from them should have felt uplifting in some way, but all he felt was hurt. The Hound did his best to dull the pain with wine, and found a place he could lick his wounds.


	2. The Little Bird's Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can expect another chapter either tonight or tomorrow depending on if my internet wants to cooperate.

Sandor Clegane did not have much to fear in all the seven kingdoms of Westeros, but fragile little Sansa Stark did. Shae reminded her of this and sent her running to her room. Her cage was the only refuge she had in the Capitol, she secured the lock on the strong door, her hands lingering on it as if to say a prayer for it to remain secure. As dangerous as troops ransacking the city were it would ultimately result in her freedom, as soon as the dust settled, at least she hoped. In her heart she did not know Stannis Baratheon and did not know if she could trust him. But she had to hope, because what other choice did she have? 

Her brows furrowed in worry, Sansa grabbed the lantern on her table, the dull roar of men dying drumming her ears. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst; she leaned forward to catch her breath, no longer having to pretend in front of anyone that she was not afraid. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something that immediately gave her comfort. Her hands reached for it, the doll that her father had gotten for her. Her fingers ran through its hair as a small smile crept on her lips, this doll was her own personal memory of him, of his kindness. 

“The Lady’s starting to panic.” 

Sansa whirled around, her moment invaded by the voice of Sandor Clegane, the man who liked to frighten her. “What are you doing here.” She did not ask kindly, it was improper for him to be here in the room of a young Lady. Why was he not outside, fighting? 

“Not here for long.” Came his reply. He was different than from before, his head hanging low, his voice sounded defeated. “I’m going.”

“Where?!” Sansa’s incredulous tone immediately followed him.

“Someplace that, isn’t burning.” The scared half of his face was turned toward Sansa, and though it had long since not bothered her to look upon it she felt a pang of pity at his words. “North, might be. Could be.” 

Sansa did not understand, “What about the King?” she asked suspiciously as he uncorked his drink.

“He can die just fine on his own.” Sansa wondered if he was drunk, for no matter how unpleasant he seemed to find to his work he was inexplicably tied to it. “I can take you with me.” She couldn’t believe his words. “Take you to Winterfell.” The mere mention of her home almost made her faint. She couldn’t believe it. “I’ll keep you safe.” He rose and came towards her, his size more intimidating than ever as she stood rooted to the spot, unsure of anything, her mind running a blank in mixed fear. “I could keep you safe…Do you want to go home?” 

She wanted to go home more than anything, “I’ll be safe here, Stannis won’t hurt me.” 

A small whimper escaped her lips as Sandor jolted, bringing his face inches from hers, “LOOK at me.” He demanded roughly. “Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a Killer. Your Brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday.” Such a bitter expression he had on his face. “The world is built by killers.” He leaned back, “So you better get used to looking at them.”

Sansa did not look at him with fear anymore; he was an unpleasant and rude man. He couldn’t take a compliment or thank you. He did not believe in the goodness of people. And he had the saddest eyes she had ever seen. All of these things about him were true, and so was this… “You won’t hurt me.” Her voice came with more confidence than she knew she had, her back straightened, her face smoothed from worry. 

The malice dropped out of Sandor’s voice, “No Little Bird, I won’t hurt you.” This one truth was unquestionable as they paused, as if an understanding had come between them. He turned away, walking out of the Little Bird’s cage, and the Little Bird followed after him.


End file.
